Christmas Carol
by BrilliantLady
Summary: Harry never gets to have a nice, peaceful holiday. Christmas Eve is no exception. Harry/Ginny (with arguing), post-canon, mild Charles Dickens crossover. Complete ficlet.


It was late on Christmas Eve, and Harry sighed as he slogged through the mountain of paperwork he'd brought home. Being the head of the DMLE wasn't all he'd hoped for and had meant a move away from fieldwork to administration. Even though he was officially on holidays he had expense reimbursement forms to approve so his Aurors wouldn't be short on funds over the new year.

Ginny wrapped up the last of the children's gifts, a job she'd done on her own for the past hour with much griping that he'd steadfastly tried to ignore. "There. A new monogrammed journal for Albus Severus Potter." She stuck a glittery green bow on the top of the wrapping.

"Don't you think that's a bit creepy? I thought he wanted a potions set?"

"It was _James_ who wanted that," snapped Ginny. "Albus hates Potions. Can you _pretend_ you're involved in your children's lives?"

"Sorry, dear," Harry said meekly. He didn't want another fight, but Ginny didn't seem inclined to peacefully let the topic drop.

"You don't even farewell him at the platform anymore!"

"He asked me not to. He hates being the son of the famous 'Harry Potter' and all the attention it brings."

"You never told me that!"

"You never asked!" Harry snapped, getting irritated. "You never want to talk about the kids! Any time there's a problem you don't bother to find out what's going on, you just screech at us like a copy of your mother instead of _talking_ with any of us about things!"

"Maybe I _would_ talk if you were ever home, did you think of that?!"

"I _have_ to work long hours, especially with you draining the savings from our vault to pay for the latest broom! Merlin knows _one_ of us has to budget, and you're certainly taking after your family in-"

"It's for my _job_!" Ginny interrupted, with an angry hiss. "And don't you talk like that about my family!"

"You're a Quidditch _correspondent_ not a…" Harry started to argue, before trailing off with a sigh. "Can't we just have a nice Christmas without an argument, for a change?" Harry pleaded.

"Fine. We'll pretend we're happy. Like always."

With a shimmer in the air, a strange apparition appeared in the corner of their room, and they both spun to look at it. The hooded spectre caught Harry's eye first as the obvious threat, and he reflexively snatched up his wand to cast a Patronus. However, whatever the creature or being was, it clearly wasn't a Dementor, for it didn't so much as flinch at the ghostly deer facing off against it.

Ginny gasped as Harry's Patronus pawed defensively at the ground, and it was only then that Harry noticed the second new figure in the room. There was a young boy holding onto the figure's skeletal hand, who was half-hidden behind its thick black robes.

Messy black hair. Cheap round glasses. Baggy rags for clothes.

"Harry! Look, it's you!" Ginny said, eyes wide in shock. "Have you been mucking about in the Department of Mysteries?"

"Spirit, please! I've seen enough!" piped young Harry, as he looked up earnestly at the shadowed bony face of the terrifying figure beside him. "I've learned my lessons, I swear! I'll make more friends and I'll shake his hand, I promise! I'll work harder in school and avoid the headmaster's schemes! Spare me these terrible visions!"

The darkly hooded figure nodded gravely, and the interlopers disappeared with the distinctive pop of Apparition.

Harry and Ginny exchanged a confused look.

"What in Merlin's name was that about?" Harry wondered aloud.

"'Terrible visions.' So rude," sniffed Ginny.

Harry sat silently at his desk, lost in thought as Ginny started speculating in the background about Time-Turners and Polyjuice and if this was a prank James had set up.

Harry meanwhile was thinking about lost chances and wondering regretfully about exactly what mysterious privileges his former title of 'Master of Death' might have granted him, if only he'd known to use them.

* * *

A/N: Inspired by a Twitter prompt posted by Plague of Gripes and 'A Christmas Carol' by Charles Dickens. Merry Christmas to all my readers! :)


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